


At Troubled Peace

by adrift_me



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Fluff, M/M, Picnics, Recovery, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-10-01 06:39:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10183106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrift_me/pseuds/adrift_me
Summary: A cottage on the lake shore, looking over the grand landscapes of Scotland, has become a place of refuge from their torment.Recovery fluff for Credence and Graves, including a picnic (request)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a prompt request, but turned out slightly different, maybe too angsty? :D I am still gladly accepting prompts, so please do send me your suggestions in tumblr ask/messages :)
> 
> A huge thank you for never ending inspiration and support to my lovely friend [Marion](gravesfrommacusa.tumblr.com).
> 
> Follow me on [tumblr](http://accio-toffy.tumblr.com/) :)  
> 

The wind is blowing through a shock of deep green leaves of an oak tree. It rustles and whispers, playing with the branches, making them dance. It flies on, finding its way to a couple sitting nearby, surrounding them with a light breeze of freshness and relief. The man with grayed out hair rests on a chair, his right leg stretched out and heavily bandaged. A young man sits by his side, half-slid in his seat and shying away from bright sunlight. He fashions a new hat and a fitting black suit, something he seems to be rather aware of with the way he keeps glancing and poking at his jacket’s sleeves. He gives his sleeve cuff a final pinch and steadies his glance at the rippling water surface of the lake.

The couple looks tired.

Graves is holding a glass with an ice cold drink, trying to ignore the way his hand is shaking a little and makes the yellowish drink bubble. He takes a sip and feels a cold flow of liquid through his guts, making his insides go numb. It’s better than pain, he admits.

Graves averts his eyes from his hand and looks at Credence.

It’s their first week together in Britain. The novelty of the place is still fresh, just like the lemonade Graves is having, and he is admittedly enjoying both. The estate where they live is small and cozy, enough for the two of them to share and make their own. A cottage on the lake shore, looking over the grand landscapes of Scotland, has become a place of refuge from their torment. It is empty yet, with adornments making the house truly _theirs_ missing still. Friends and good wishers provide things that are yet to come from the States, things like furniture and decor. Graves thinks them useless toys, but Credence seems to enjoy the idea of his own belongings, filling up the cottage.

Life’s starting anew. Graves wishes he could be wiped clean just like the house and rebuilt to resemble a human being, not the embodiment of a war hero he never was. The auror has plenty of scars, inside and outside, to bear witness of what he went through. He looks at his hand, which is still holding a glass - the hand shakes a little, like a birch leaf on the wind. He moves the glass to another hand and clenches his fist. Trembling won’t stop.

A neighbouring chair creaks and a shadow slides to reside by his side. Credence sits on lush green grass, his head by Graves’ knee. His scarred long hands reach out for the ex-auror and he brings his trembling hands to his lips for a kiss.

“Perhaps, you’d like to return home, sir?” he asks in a soft voice, rubbing Graves’ fingers in circular motions.

“No, my boy. I enjoy being out here. I’m at peace,” he pats his hand appreciatively, looking down with a soft expression. Credence kisses his hand again.

“I’m glad.”

Percival looks down at the young man, who seems to be perfectly comfortable by his chair, and smiles. This poor creature has been through hell and back and yet he still holds. His resolve is beyond measure, beyond imaginable and Graves truly admires him. Deep inside, he might even be jealous, for his own bravery has been torn down and shred to pieces.

“Professor Dumbledore suggests we move to the next spell book. He says I have advanced far enough,” says Credence quietly and slowly, as if uncertain in the validity of what he says. Graves presses Credence’s face closer to his leg and rubs his cheek without looking.

“He is a good man. And you can trust his judgement as much as my own, my boy,” Graves says reassuringly. “You will see, in a matter of a few years your power will fall under your full control. Dumbledore will see to it. And so will I.”

“I am looking forward to it.”

Percival smiles. As silence settles between them again, the ex-auror is drawn away by observing the lake shore. It’s long and inviting for a walk. Lined with a cluster of colourful myrtle shrubs, a small stoop is hiding by the very water.

Graves’ feet are itching to stand on solid ground, to feel the softness of grass under his shoes. He taps at Credence’s shoulder lightly.

“Please, help me get up, Credence.”

The young man rises to be Graves’ support, offering his hand. With the help of Credence and his walking stick, the man steadies himself on the ground. His face is a mask, suppressing the reflection of pain he goes through. He tells Credence nothing of the excruciating impulses, running through his limb. Instead he gives the boy a smile and, with their arms hooked, turns to walk towards the edge of the lake.

As he and Credence stand by the shore, drowned in a strong scent of myrtle flowers, Graves contemplates. It’s not how he imagined his retirement, but it most certainly surpasses in the most pleasant way what he prepared himself for. He is bound to admit that he planned no retirement at all. A noble death for a noble cause, this used to be his idea of an end. It’s not entirely gone from his mind, brought back by traumatic experiences of his recovery. When nightmares catch up, drowning his restless sleep with images of torture and fears, he wishes Grindelwald killed him. The devouring pain of guilt makes his existence insufferable and only Credence’s faith and understanding keeps him alive. Credence is a walking stick to his mind and soul, helping him take steps through a journey of recovery.

Graves huffs, scorning himself for yet another act of despicable self-pity. He may have suffered, but he’s a grown up man with years of training and experience behind his back. He can endure. Credence’s presence next to him reminds him to be more thoughtful of the boy, who was a lonely soul for so many years, suffering from a magical disease and now reaping its deadly harvest. Learning to control his magic, fighting his own demons… Graves knows he is not the only one with cold sweat nightmares at dawn.

The sun continues its way across the sky, burning brightly and gifting light to all things living. When temperature rises, Graves and Credence move to sit under the tree, its wide messy branches creating a wide enough shadow to hide in. With Credence tucked under his arm in an embrace, Graves rests his back at the tree trunk. He is drowsy, content, but insistent on keeping his eyes open. Heavy weight of the boy on his shoulder is as comforting as a thick blanket can be.

He inhales in a gush of affection, running his hands through Credence’s grown hair, kissing the top of his head. He may not be the auror he used to be, his leg limping and hands trembling. But he can use what is left of his power to protect the boy and surround him love he was deprived of for years.

“No harm will come to you ever again, Credence,” he says quietly, more to himself than the boy. He smiles when he hears a soft quiet whisper against his chest.

“ _I know._ ”


End file.
